Antoni; Peregrini

If Henry Clay Beatty had been a little more cheerful in his picture, he might have been the spitting image of the West Virginia University mascot: the rugged mountaineer. Unlike most college mascots, the mountaineer does not wear a stylized mask or head and suit. Instead, a student dons custom historical garb including tasseled buckskins, genuine coonskin cap, and a nineteenth-century rifle. The mascot leads students and fans in cheers for the university at sporting events, expressing the pride spectators, students, and alumni feel in their university and state. Typically the

mountaineer is male, but there have been two women in the past to play the role (the first of whom, Natalie Tennant, is currently West Virginia’s Secretary of State).⁵⁸ Traditionally, male mascots grow beards after they have been selected in honor of the rugged tradition of the state. But, the

mountaineer, for all his strength and courage, is not the only symbol of West Virginia’s history, or the best known. The coal miner, working far underground, has about as much claim as the rugged mountaineer far above him and is perhaps a much more relatable figure for citizens throughout the state.

The image of the coal miner and his family is associated time and time again with the people of Appalachia. The coal miner is as embedded in the hills and hollers of West Virginia and

Kentucky as the mineral he produces. West Virginia and Kentucky are home not only to thousands of miners but also some of the richest coalfields in the world. The West Virginian or Kentuckian miner carries the weight of a long, violent history and a conflicted present. It is not hard to imagine a coal miner. Every detail about him emphasizes his place at the bottom of the social ladder, constantly struggling to support himself and his family. Coal dust covers every inch of his skin and clothes during and after his toils in the mines. He and his family live in a dusty company house identical to all the other company houses found in the company town. He stands on his porch and leans on the railing, exhausted from a grueling 12-hour shift underground. His wife is poised sternly in the background holding a young child who looks hungry. Despite all his long hours underground,

day after day, year after year, he remains trapped in poverty. Whether or not this image is accurate, it instantly comes to mind at the slightest hint of “coal miner.”

So ubiquitous is this representation of the dirty, tired miner, gaunt wife, and hungry child that filmmakers, photographers, journalists, and others have for decades worked on capturing it exactly, often to the resentment of residents. One such filmmaker, a Canadian named Hugh

O’Connor, was shot and killed by a local landowner named Hobart Ison as he attempted to film this exact Appalachian scene in 1967. Many, if not a majority, of the residents of the eastern Kentucky town of Jeremiah were outraged by O’Connor’s and others’ seemingly bleak interest in their

“terrible” lives.⁵⁹ O’Connor’s film was never made, but hundreds of other non-fiction and fictional depictions of coal country exist to perpetuate the stereotypical image of the coal miner and his desperate life.

My ancestors might have been the objects of such outside crusades. But my family left the mines. My grandfather refused to work underground, a prospect that many could not escape. While there were thousands of different courses a miner or miner’s son or daughter could, and often did take in life, the only one that is remembered and perpetuated by non-miners is of poor worker. The sad image of white poverty as manifested by coal miners, their families, and their economic and social struggles remains in the American psyche. It is this side of coal mining that persists.

Conversely, in both Kentucky and West Virginia, mention of the coal boom brings back positive ideas about the glory and duty of producing fuel for a growing industrial country.⁶⁰ Miners and their loved ones often feel nostalgic for the bygone era. This feeling contrasts sharply with the frustration that was widespread in the era when coal controlled so many Appalachian lives. The people of coal producing towns and counties (of both the past and present) are, in my opinion, trapped in a “love/hate” relationship with the coal industry. When coal is booming, workers have jobs and income that allow them to live well: they can afford to buy and repair homes, clothing, education, and other necessities. But with these benefits comes a great cost. With an increase of jobs and profits comes an increase in risk of injury or death during a mining accident. In recent decades 10 men, on average, have died from working in coalmines in West Virginia each year.⁶¹ The

most recent accident to garner national attention occurred in 2006 when an explosion trapped thirteen workers underground in a mine in Sago, WV.⁶² After hours of figuring out the logistics of locating the miners, maneuvering, and digging through the ground without causing a cave-in, rescuers finally entered the mineshaft. An initial report spread through the community that all but one of the miners had been saved. Unfortunately, this was just a rumor. Upon reaching the trapped men, rescuers found one miner in a deep coma and twelve dead. The truth caused devastation and heartbreak among everyone with a connection to the mine.⁶³ Officials were unclear as to the exact cause of the accident, but the federal Mine Safety and Health Administration (MSHA) had found over a hundred safety violations at the Sago mine in the previous year. Immediately the press began finger pointing and assigning blame onto the company that ran the mine, International Coal Group, Inc., or, alternatively, onto the local union chapter.

Coal was a blessing and a curse for Appalachia because it brought in tradition, pride, duty, money, and industry, but it also carried danger and damage to both workers and the environment.

Was my grandfather taking into account all of the many layers of mining when he refused to work underground? Stories of riches and horrors intertwined to create a rocky relationship between West Virginia and its beautiful, black coal.

The coal miner is near and dear in my family. Both my grandmother and grandfather grew up surrounded by coalmines, dust, and miners. My grandmother’s father, Virgil Kidwell, labored as a cutting machine operator on the night shift in a deep mine. Years of breaking into the rocky coal seam, releasing thousands of particles into the air, and breathing in the clouds of thick, gritty black dust took its toll. Breathing was hard, and nothing could help him quite catch his breath. After decades of exposing and preparing black gold for the day shift, the slack and ever-present dust had done its work. He was finally obliged to quit. Like many before and after him, he contracted black lung after decades of exertion underground. Doctors verified his condition and he collected compensation from the government: a small reward for his valuable work. My grandmother grew up near a mine in Morgantown with her father. Virgil’s employment paid the rent for the company house where Grandma and her family lived. Coal got everywhere: on the floors and windows,

between sheets and clothing, on the siding of the house, and in people’s eyes, ears, and noses. I used to wonder where my mom got her strong desire to clean the house all the time, a habit that I have picked up. I am starting to think it harkens back to watching her mother clean the house, who had watched her mother clean the house in a relentless and never-ending battle with coal dust.

West Virginia coal suffuses my grandparents’ memories just as it permeated the air they breathed growing up. Grandma’s strongest memory of the time before moving to Preston County when she was in the first grade is of the local company store. The company store (the name of the company eludes my grandmother, but she does remember it was a union coal-company, an oddity in the area at the time)³ sold everything: groceries, home goods, tools, candy, and more. When you were a bit tight on cash at the store, the company let you buy the goods but took the bill right out of your paycheck. While my grandmother remembers the store fondly, historians have found that others were less affectionate towards the coal company and its frequently overarching control.

Other things my grandmother remembers about the coal company besides the store was that the different mines were named after the head of the company’s family. The mine her father worked in was named “Mabel,” after the boss’s daughter.⁶⁴ The paternalistic nature of the coal company’s relationship with its employees evoked a combination of nostalgia and anger.

The work in the coalmine did not go on forever. Virgil decided to move his family (including my grandmother) to Preston County, where he worked in a mine for a very short time, then ran a sawmill with his brother. He just did not want to work underground in a deep mine any more.⁶⁵ Pap would grow up with the same sentiment. One of the most adamant statements I have ever heard Pap say is that he never wanted to work in a coalmine. He never wanted to grow up to be a miner, live as a miner in a coal town, work underground, or do anything else related to mining coal. But, in West Virginia, coal was inescapable. While most of the mining Pap experienced was of a backyard variety (farmers mining seams on their land for personal use in cooking and heating their homes), company work was not far away. After he graduated from high school in 1947, and worked

3 Possibilities of the company in Morgantown that Virgil Kidwell worked for as based on Edkin’s Catalogue of Coal Scrip: Chaplin Collieries Co., Delmar Coal Co., Dragon Coal Co, Ross Coal Co.

a few odd jobs at the local golf course, Pap decided that his need for money trumped his distaste for the mines. He worked for the Industrial Coal Company of Kingwood at a cleaning tipple that served the needs of six local mines. This aboveground work (Pap, unlike his father-in-law, never went underground) involved watching tons of coal go down a belt where he picked out everything that was not coal and threw it away. Pap said it was cold and dusty work. He spent hours standing on his feet, hands black with grime and dust, but at $1.10/hour worth the discomfort.⁶⁶ A few years of sorting coal from dirt was enough for him. Upon receiving his draft notice for Korea, he left the coal industry for good. After the completion of his tour of duty, he returned to West Virginia where he was determined to get away from the mines. In his case, this meant learning algebra to take a qualifying exam for an apprenticeship in Baltimore. Somewhat ironically, he apprenticed in a steel factory serving an industry heavily dependent on the fuel power of coal. Pap worked for Bethlehem Steel for thirty-five years until his retirement.⁶⁷ After raising his family in Baltimore, he returned to West Virginia, apparently done forever with the black gold.

Yet, for West Virginia, coal is a fact of life. When I asked Pap how many people he knew in the coal industry growing up, he told me that nearly all his neighbors worked in and around mines;

even landowners would toil in the mines during the day and farm at night. His relatives mined on the Beatty farm (before it was taken out of their hands), digging through layers of rock, building supports and tracks for little carts to haul the heat for their homes. ⁶⁸ Coal was used for everything and found everywhere. Everyone relied on coal for their daily lives. He remembers that each farm in and around the Portland district (where he grew up) had its own little mine that would serve the needs of each family. These small, unofficial mines continued to operate until advanced technology and larger corporate operations made them irrelevant.

Although people no longer depend on backyard supplies, coal still plays a significant role in everyday life in Preston County. Hints of this hit me as I drove through the county this past summer. Industrial run-off from mining had stained the stones lining streams and creeks an unnatural reddish orange color. Signs exclaiming “Stop the War on Coal: Fire Obama” were on nearly every lawn, a testament to the strong feelings in support of coal held by county residents.

The 2012 presidential election was going to be won or lost in West Virginia virtually on the issue of coal alone.⁶⁹ Citizens considered a war on coal a war on their lives. The federal government had given my great grandfather Virgil assistance for his black lung, but at the same time could potentially cripple the economy of the area. Today coal is losing ground against other forms of energy.

Recently, locals decided to shut down a huge power plant a few minutes down the road from my grandparents’ farm. Built in the 1950s, it used to be the area’s largest consumer of coal.

Environmental factors (mainly not being up to code) and technological obsolescence worked

together to shut it down. Even so, the people of Preston County still very much depend on the coal industry, despite the popular belief that the age of coal is over. That is surprising, since Preston lies in the northeast quadrant of the state. The heart of coal country lies in the opposite corner, in the southwest of the state where West Virginia borders Kentucky, right at the heart of where the Hatfields and McCoys used to rule. Designated a US “National Heritage Area” in 1996, the southwestern coalfields of West Virginia have been determined as representing a “unique cultural region where coal mining has made a significant contribution to the national story of

industrialization.”⁷⁰ Preston County deserves attention too. But coal and mining, although no longer done in the county on a scale anywhere near like it was in the past, are still major actors visible in the remnants of old mines or processing plants, advertising themselves in commercials during the evening news, and calling for attention on road signs along the windy back roads.

New technologies and systems of manufacture have remade the process of coal production in recent years. The coal towns of the 1940s and 50s that remain in the forefront of people’s minds are a relic of the past. Their prominence was at its height when it was cheaper for a company to furnish everything (e.g. houses, transportation, stores, churches, and more) than to let employees look out for themselves. Since coal generated huge profits in these decades, local governments thrived on the taxes and employment the companies provided. But technological advances have reduced the manual labor needed in mines, and the push towards clean energy limits future growth.

Yet, as became clear during my short stay there, the stories and family lore involving coal remain relevant today.⁷¹

There is no shortage of coal mining stories and tales from West Virginia or Kentucky. The vast scholarship about the cultural, environmental, physical, and mental effects of the coal industry can seem overwhelming. Like apple pie, coal is an American staple and has been studied from a great many angles. My interest lies in the family, local, and national traditions and stories about coal and narratives of coal-mining communities. Many of my friends, hearing my topic, immediately recommended films to watch or books to read. I took their advice and read or watched everything I could find, ranging from The Coal Miner’s Daughter, the fictional representation of country western singer Loretta Lynn’s rise to fame from Buther Hollow, Kentucky to beloved star, to Stranger with a Camera, a documentary seeking to figure out why the Canadian film maker Hugh O’Connor was killed in 1967 for trying to tell a story about coal country. Dozens of news stories and History Channel shows depict coal mining, West Virginia, Kentucky, and Appalachia. There is an abundance of material. Two of my favorites are Homer Hickam’s October Sky (1998) and Harlan County USA (1976); the Academy Award winning documentary directed by Barbara Kopple. Both illustrate on very personal levels how coal and mining affect people in virtually every aspect of their lives. In addition, the parallels between my grandparents’ and family’s experience with coal and these narratives help to explain the decisions and life choices my forbears made.

Keeping her cameras running at all times, Kopple (a New Yorker eager to help the cause of striking Kentucky miners) documents the bitter struggle between company and striking workers at the Brookside coal mine in the “bloody Harlan County” battle of 1973. Kopple’s camera is present at every meeting, discussion, and fight. The filmmaker positions herself behind the leaders of the union at Brookside, waking with picketers at dawn, and running her camera alongside men armed with baseball bats against gun-toting strikebreakers.⁷² Not only did Harlan County USA popularize the medium of documentary film because of its intriguing and emotional characters, but it also showed to a general audience the struggle that was happening right around the corner in their own country. In contrast, Homer Hickam, who completed his memoir in the mid 1990s, looks back at his adolescent years and describes what it was like growing up in the company town of Coalwood, West Virginia in the late 50s and early 60s. He writes his story with the town of Coalwood as one of

the main characters. While centered on his quest to build high-flying rockets, the setting and

circumstances of his life are unique to West Virginia.⁷³ The two accounts, when taken together, give extensive and varied looks at life in Kentucky and West Virginia that, because of the prominence of coal mining, have shaped memories and images of the region for decades.

Harlan County USA provides a shocking look into events that many Americans could not comprehend. Basic amenities that most Americans did not think twice about were absent in this part of the US. Kopple showed her audience that many of the people in Appalachia lacked electricity, running water, and food. These abject conditions led to the violent strike that gave Harlan County its “bloody” reputation. The film restored Appalachian poverty to the national limelight. Just as Harry M. Caudill’s Night Comes to the Cumberlands had in 1962 and CBS’s Christmas in Appalachia television special in 1964, Kopple’s documentary insisted that all was not well in the country.⁷⁴ White people in rural America were suffering the same misery as impoverished blacks in

Harlan County USA provides a shocking look into events that many Americans could not comprehend. Basic amenities that most Americans did not think twice about were absent in this part of the US. Kopple showed her audience that many of the people in Appalachia lacked electricity, running water, and food. These abject conditions led to the violent strike that gave Harlan County its “bloody” reputation. The film restored Appalachian poverty to the national limelight. Just as Harry M. Caudill’s Night Comes to the Cumberlands had in 1962 and CBS’s Christmas in Appalachia television special in 1964, Kopple’s documentary insisted that all was not well in the country.⁷⁴ White people in rural America were suffering the same misery as impoverished blacks in